


alive (but just barely)

by coffeeandcigarettesplease



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A mentions of Rose/Rey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Codependency, Cunnilingus, Dark Comedy, Dark Humor, Demonic Possession, F/F, F/M, Fire, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, High School AU, Incubus Ben Solo, Jennifer’s Body AU, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Murder, Occult, Oral Sex, Possessive Ben, Protective Rey, Recreational Drug Use, Satanic Ritual, Smut, Toxic Relationship, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Sacrifice, Voyeurism, mild Rey/Rose if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcigarettesplease/pseuds/coffeeandcigarettesplease
Summary: Jennifer’s Body AU.When her bestie and unrequited crush gets turned into a demon (after a virgin sacrifice gone wrong) that feeds off humans, Rey has to decide: kill her murder boyfriend or help keep him alive?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 64
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, welcome to this dumpster fire! 😇
> 
> As always, please mind the tags. Obviously, following the story, Ben is going to be sacrificed in a satanic ritual by an ambitious band. He is a demon that feeds on sexual energy/humans. So, cannibalism, gore, blood, violence. But no rape/noncon here. **Characters will die.** BUT, not Rey or Ben, and they will wind up together in the end. I hesitate to call it HEA because everyone has their own interpretations of what that looks like. In my mind, I’m giving them a HEA - but to some, they might not find it satisfying. 
> 
> I know nothing about the occult, and this story doesn’t go into details because I don’t want to disrespect anyone’s beliefs. Those scenes are intentionally vague, and I can give a heads up to anyone that might want one when we reach that chapter. 
> 
> This is a dark comedy, in the vein of the film Jennifer’s Body, as well as a few others that I enjoy. Heathers, Idle Hands, Scream, Jawbreaker, etc. So yes, while death happens, it’s not necessarily treated as the tragedy that it would be in real life. If that’s uncomfortable for you, then I do not recommend reading this particular fic!! There are over 20k+ wonderful fics out there to read that are more suited to your liking. 
> 
> There is some _mild_ Rose/Rey (it’s more Rose than Rey). There _might_ be some Rey/Kaydel, I haven’t decided whether to go there or not. If it feels organic, I will. 
> 
> I also want to add that Rey is an *unreliable narrator* and that what she sees/perceives might not be what’s actually happening or realistic. Just a heads up.
> 
> I think that covers it! Please reach out if I’ve missed a tag or warning. Or just to chat! Enjoy ❤️

It’s really hard to be best friends with the hottest guy in school. I’m not _oblivious,_ of course - I know that we’re an odd pair. Ben is six feet and three inches of firm muscle, with dazzling dark eyes and soft, silky curls the color of dark chocolate. I _see_ how girls stare at him in the hallways of Devil’s Kettle High School, their eyes lingering on his strong arms and broad shoulders and _sinfully_ full lips. I know, because I see it every day, when I walk beside him. 

I also know that most people think I’m his personal blow job dispenser - why else would Ben Solo hang out with _me_ , Rey Plutt? I’m a nobody, a nerdy loser with no tits and a tendency to correct grammar when nobody asks. 

But most people forget that in kindergarten, on the first day of school, I was sitting by myself in the big sandbox on the playground, all alone. I was scared because I didn’t know anyone, and I’ve always been a shy person. I didn’t know how to walk up to the girls playing hop-scotch and ask to join, or get in on the game of tag happening on the blacktop. So I sat in the sand, pitifully pushing a dump truck through the hills and valleys carved by children before me, about to start _bawling_ because school is terrible and I just want to go home - when the boy plopped down next to me. 

I can remember thinking that he was beautiful, with such pale skin and such dark hair. And he had those pouty lips, even then, and they smiled at me as he picked up an excavator and zoomed it into my dump truck, making loud crash sounds and acting out this dramatic scene with the paramedics and fire truck. And I was simply mesmerized, impressed with his imagination, feeling _lucky_ that he had noticed me and chosen to play with me. 

And I was grateful, the next day, when he did it again. I waited in the sand, hoping and wishing that he would come back - _and he did._ Every afternoon we would play these stupid car crash games, and it was more fun than anything I’d ever done before. One day, Ben informed our teacher - the terrifying hag who dragged chalk down her board on purpose so it would screech - that he would be sitting beside me for the rest of the year, dumping out the supplies of the girl that had been sitting beside me. He was so confident, so self-assured. She never questioned him, and we were inseparable ever since. 

I’ve asked him why, of course, especially in middle school when it became obvious that we were operating in a completely opposite stratosphere when it came to our classmates. Ben shot up six inches the summer between seventh and eighth grade. He started lifting weights and tried out for football. I was busy reading Harry Potter fanfiction and _studying._ Girls - popular girls like Bazine and Kaydel - started to notice him. _No one_ noticed me.

“You could hang out with anyone you want - I _heard_ Poe Dameron invite you over for a COD marathon,” I pointed out to him one night when he was sprawled on my bedroom floor. We were supposed to be studying - that’s what we told Uncle Unkar - but mostly we were snacking on the Hot ‘n Ready he had brought and watching Vines. 

“You’re my best friend. I want to hang out with you.” He had shrugged, annoyed that I was even asking. 

_Letting things go_ has never been one of my strengths. “Ok, but _why_?”

“Sandbox love never dies, Rey.” Then he had smirked and grabbed another slice and I accepted that, because it was the first time anyone had ever used the word love combined with my name in the same sentence. 

Now, we’re seniors in high school. Ben is captain of the football team. I’ve glimpsed text messages over his shoulder and know that _many_ girls (and some guys) send him all kinds of explicit messages and pictures. Coach thinks he’ll get some kind of scholarship to play college ball, which would be great. Wherever he gets an offer, I’ll apply. Ben is adamant that we must never be separated, insisting that we’re each other’s emotional support animal.

Of course, I am pathetically in love with him. It’s impossible not to be - he’s funny, he’s ridiculously good looking, and he’s stuck by me all these years through thick and thin. But it’s never been like _that_ between us, no matter how much I ache for him. It’s stupid - I should just be grateful that he counts me as his closest friend, the person he can really be himself around, the person he tells _everything_ to. 

Though sometimes, I could do without _all_ the details. 

Tonight, for instance, he’s drunk at some jock party where everyone gets wasted off like, Busch Light and cheap vodka that smells like nail polish remover. I’ve never been to one of these parties - mainly because I’ve never been invited, but also because surrounding myself with the vacuous upper echelon of Devil’s Kettle High sounds super uncomfortable. No one would mess with me in front of Ben, but the second he left my side to do a beer bong or suck face with whoever, somebody would be going to great lengths to let me know just how unwelcome I would be.

**Ben**

_Oh my god Plutt_

**Rey**

_What now_

**Ben**

_Pava just whipped out her tits, do you want a picture_

**Rey**

_Mmm, hard pass, unless they’re like massively deformed or something_

**Ben**

_You’re twisted & I love you _

**Rey**

_Love you too dork_

Like, at least he thinks of me when he sees boobs, you know? Unless that is a brand new level of friend-zone, or something. 

I take a shower and change into a pair of boxers and one of Ben’s worn-soft old T-shirts. I turn off my lamp and crawl under the quilt. Plutt works midnights at a factory across town, making our schedules rarely cross. He sleeps all day, I cook dinner and hide in my room until he leaves for work. He’s my uncle; my parents died when I was young and he kindly took me in. The monthly checks from social security were _definitely_ a big part of that decision. The house is quiet and still while I scroll through Reddit, starting to doze until my phone vibrates a Snapchat notification.

It’s from Kaydel Ko Connix - one of the bimbo cheerleaders. She’s friends with everyone from our grade, mainly because she’s a notorious gossip. Nobody sneezes in Devil’s Kettle without her knowing. Still, I click on the little purple box indicating she’s sent a video (again, likely to the _entire senior class_ ) and squint at the dark screen, trying to make out what I’m seeing. It’s definitely two people, as I can hear a girl giggling - and then, my stomach sinking like a stone, I hear Ben’s familiar chuckle. It’s so hard to see, and _hear_ because Kaydel keeps shushing someone off-screen and whispering, “Oh my God Bazine is _such_ a whore!”

There’s more than one video. Part of me is disgusted - it’s a gigantic invasion of privacy, and I’m pretty sure _illegal_ considering all parties are minors. Another part of me is burning with jealousy. Like a hot ball of molten anger and sadness and _want_ that could literally choke me. I mean, _Bazine_ ? Bazine who thought that kangaroos weren’t real and that New Mexico wasn’t technically part of the continental US? Sure, she looks like she could star on a soapy teen drama on CW and apparently has a few thousand followers on TikTok. But like - _really Ben?!_

I keep watching because I’m a glutton for pain. The angle shifts and the room lightens up. The sight of his back flexing and his hips thrusting under the half-drawn sheet makes my blood pound hard through my veins, a throb of want so acute in my pussy making me whimper. 

Despite the fact that I’ll probably wind up in best friend hell for this, I quickly slip my hand under my shorts and start rubbing my clit. As I watch Ben fucking Bazine, her moans breathy and high pitched and his voice rumbly, too deep and quiet to understand, I pretend that it’s me. That he is fucking _me_ carelessly, that I’m the one making his breathing hit and his hips stutter. He groans softly when he cums (I swear to God he better be wearing a condom) and his head drops, and I’m only a few seconds behind him. I can almost picture his face, wrecked with pleasure, murmuring _my name._

I feel gross after, ashamed, and wipe my fingers on the inside of my cotton shorts before tossing my phone across the room. 

  
  
  


——

  
  
  


The next day, in Ancient Civilizations, Ben straggles in after the tardy bell sipping Starbucks, and drops a scone on my desk as he passes by. It makes me blush, but when Bazine shoots me a look over her shoulder, I smirk and bite in. 

“Kind of you to join us, Solo,” Mr. Ackbar sighs in a disappointed, but definitely not surprised voice. “I think you know the class rule on food. Either bring enough for everyone, or don’t bring _any._ ”

“But Rey is hungry. If I don’t feed her, no one will,” Ben says cheekily. There’s a snicker from around the class as Ackbar harrumphs and shakes his head. I gobble up my treat and wipe the crumbs off my desk, opening my textbook and flipping to chapter three. Ten minutes later, our teacher is on a droning roll, facing the board and scrawling in barely legible script across the board. My phone vibrates in my hoodie pocket. I slide it out on my lap and check the screen.

**Ben**

_True or false: You watched my sex tape_

Immediately, my face goes hot - as does the back of my neck. I curse my short hair as I hear him chuckle softly. I bite the inside of my cheek, unwilling to let him get under my skin. It’s one reason our relationship works so well - he loves to get under everyone’s skin, and I refuse to react the way he thinks I should. The rare time that I do, it’s like hitting the Lotto for Ben. It’s crack for his weird little mind-fuck self.

**Rey**

_I think you showed real potential. Some day you could have a lucrative career as an amateur porn star._

**Ben**

_Thanks, Plutt._

_You didn’t rub one out did you?_

**Rey**

_To you and Bazine? Please. You know I only watch Japanese train orgies._

**Ben**

_I’m sure I can arrange that for next time_

**Rey**

_Get a better co-star next time. Some mood music. Lighting. Kraft food services for the talent._

**Ben**

_So if I smelled your fingers right now I won’t smell your sweet little virgin cunt?_

I let out a slow breath as the words go straight to my _sweet little virgin cunt._ Fuck Ben Solo for having such an effect on me, and fuck him for being right. I mean, I washed my hands since then, but still. The thought that Ben _knows_ I masturbated to _him_ on some illicit Snapchat video is pitiful and humiliating. I wish the floor would open and swallow me up. Still, I can’t let it show. I can’t let him realize he’s right. 

**Rey**

_My hands smell like sanitizer, Solo. Don't flatter yourself._

I pocket my phone again, and he kicks the back of my chair. I turn my face down to gaze at my desk, hoping no one can see the stupid cheesy grin on my face. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Cancel your plans,” Ben says later that day at my locker. It’s a Thursday night, so I literally have nothing in mind but binge-watching the newest Kdrama on Netflix and texting Ben. And maybe my only other friend, Rose Tico. Like me, Rose is a social nobody. She, like everyone else in Devil’s Kettle, is obsessed with leaving. Which means she studies like it’s a competition and loads up on brainy extracurricular activities, like student government and chess and debate. 

We’re both up for valedictorian, and it’s a tight race. Still, we get along really well. It’s the kind of friendship that forces you to do better and keep up. Rose wants to be a surgeon, so she takes it a lot more seriously than me.

I have no idea what I’ll wind up doing. 

Ben is adamant that we go to the same school, and I’ll need all the scholarships I can get to pull that off. More than likely, I’ll wind up dropping out of the community college in two years and getting a job at the factory where Plutt works. That’s how it goes for a lot of the residents of our depressing town. Seldom does anyone really permanently leave. I think Ben will. I think Ben will get out and never look back, leaving all of us shrinking in his rear view mirror. 

“Ok,” I tell Ben, loading up my backpack. We have a trig test next week, and French, and I have an essay due in English Lit on Catcher in the Rye - more like Yawn in the Snore. I’ve done some googling, and apparently Holden Caufield is like the tumblr girl’s literary heart throb, but he seems a lot like a whiny incel douche. I can definitely put it all off though, if Ben wants to hang out.

“I’m picking you up at eight. Dress hot, like a  _ girl _ ,” he adds. 

“I don’t really  _ have  _ anything hot.” Which, of course, he knows. He’s constantly telling me how good I would look if I stopped dressing like a middle school boy. Apparently jeans and band T-shirts and grandpa cardigans aren’t en Vogue. 

“Fine, I’ll dress you when I get there.” Ben grins and I scowl. 

“This better not be some dumb house party,” I say, zipping my bag and shouldering it. “If I have to see Poe Dameron doing a keg stand in his underwear again, I’m going to strangle you.”

“Oh, will you leave me somewhere easily discovered? Pose me pretty for the crime scene photos?” 

“You’re sick.” We start towards the parking lot. In the morning, I catch the bus. In the afternoon, Ben gives me a ride. I live out on the edge of town, where the neat grid of the subdivision turns into unincorporated fields and forest. Plutt grew up on a junkyard, which is now defunct. Still, rusting cars torn into empty, mangled metal shells with their innards parted out line the back acre of the property. When we were kids, we found an old Ford Falcon station wagon that wasn’t too messed up and took it over, padding the back floor with ratty old blankets and stashing our treasures there. Pokémon cards, a Penthouse magazine Ben found in his father’s garage, a bunch of batteries and our matching walkie-talkies, a tin we used to hide weed. 

“Seriously, though - where are we going?” I ask after we climb into his sporty little BMW. It’s older than both of us but in great shape. Ben’s father is a mechanic and they rebuilt the engine together before Ben turned sixteen. 

Ben turns the key in the ignition with a smirk. “I’m not telling. But more than likely, we will be the only kids from school, so you don’t have to worry about running into anyone.” He flips Dameron and Kaydel the finger before pulling out into the road.

Devil’s Kettle is a small town, so named for the natural waterfall hidden in the woods. The water from the falls cascades into this deep hole in the Earth, and nobody knows where it goes. It’s freaky, because they keep sending scientists out to measure how deep it is or where it comes out, but whatever gets thrown down there never resurfaces. The legends say that the hole goes down to the pits of hell. 

It’s the most interesting thing about our town. Other than the falls, there’s a couple bars, a couple churches, the school, and a small downtown area with a few shops - all who have lost business since the Target opened up. Back in the day, there were more factories and Devil’s Kettle was a booming little town. Now, there’s just the car part shop where Plutt works. It employs many grown ups around town. 

“Just trust me,” Ben says. “You’ll like it.” 

  
  
  


——

  
  
  


I do not in fact like it. 

After making some Hamburger Helper (half of which I toss straight into Tupperware for Plutt), I laze around my room and text Rose, who is at some model UN event that lasts into the weekend. She gets to miss school, which makes me wish I would have signed up too. She says Spain is pretty hot and she might try to make a move. I wish her luck in both her academic and romantic pursuits. Around seven, Ben shows up with a Target bag and a mischievous grin. I glare at him.

“You did not go buy clothes for me,” I say, annoyed.

“I did. Put them on.” He shoves the bag at me and flops on my bed. I turn my back and dig through the bag. A stretchy red shirt, a new pair of dark wash skinny jeans. At least it’s not pink or indecent. I shimmy out of my loose jeans and into the new ones, willing my body not to blush. Ben and I are pretty comfortable around each other, and I’m sure my skinny body is pretty underwhelming after all of his exploits.

I’m not ugly or anything. I’m just skinny, with small breasts and wide hips. My hair is a boring brown, a chin-length bob but sort of curly. The most average looking person you could imagine. My best feature is my dimples or my teeth, which I’m grateful for - but you never hear guys going around bragging about how straight their girlfriend’s teeth are. 

The jeans fit well. I’m not sure how he guessed my size. I pull off my T-shirt and start to pull the red blouse on when Ben says, “No bra, Plutt.”

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. Ben just grins, arms folded behind his head. Obviously watching me. “Pervert,” I accuse, but still reach behind my back to unhook my bra. I let it fall down my arms. I hope the blush on my cheeks isn’t obvious on my exposed back. Awkwardly, I pull the new top over my head. It’s a halter top that dips low in the back  _ and  _ front, exposing the space between my boobs. Definitely not meant to be worn with a bra.

I turn around and lift my hands up helplessly. Ben rises, standing in front of me and adjusting the straps. “Your tits are so cute and perky. I love your tits, Plutt.” 

“They’re smaller than yours,” I argue, swatting his big hand away when he reaches to tweak mine. He chuckles as I face my mirror, combing fingers through my curls to muss them up. I admit, I don’t look half bad. Ben grabs one of my less geriatric cardigans to wear over, and then it’s time to hit the road. 

In the car, we listen to Fleetwood Mac and talk shit about the kids from school. Ben, being Mr. Popularity, knows all the hot gossip. He makes fun of Rose for being such a nerd, accuses her of trying to steal me away. Which is ridiculous. As if  _ anyone  _ could steal me away.

“I see the way she looks at you,” Ben says, and I’m so distracted coming up with an argument for  _ that _ that I miss the fact that he pulls into the parking lot of The Cantina, until he shifts into park and I realize. I glance around the darkened parking lot, neon glow of the big sign reflected in the puddles and the sound of muffled music coming from inside.

“No,” I groan.

Ben just unbuckles and gives me a devilish look. Reluctantly, I unbuckle too. The Cantina is the only place in town that hosts live music, and Ben likes to go every time a band from out of town plays. In case they get big, he can say he saw them way back when. Plus, they often have better drugs from the city, instead of the maybe-meth he’s been sold before. One of his less redeeming qualities is being a clout chaser, and he’s shameless about it. Probably why he doesn’t care about his little sexy video floating around. It keeps him  _ relevant.  _

Likely, Ben will get drunk and abandon me to make buddies with the band. Then I’ll drive us home, and he will crash at Plutt’s. Sometimes, in my bed, and he insists on me sleeping next to him, one hand loosely draped over my middle. And it will make the annoyance of the prior night melt away when I feel the solid wall of his chest against my back.

See? Pathetic. I told you.

Inside the Cantina, I spot Rose’s sister Paige behind the bar. She flashes me a kind smile before returning her gaze to the customer in front of her. Ben, of course, knows a few people there. Guys that have graduated but still randomly show up at high school parties to relive their glory days and take advantage of drunk underage girls. Real stand up citizens. I roll my eyes and find a table to sit at. After a while, Ben joins me with a Coke for me and a bright green shot of something for himself. 

“Liquid marijuana,” he explains, before tossing it back. I don’t comment, taking a sip of my pop, and glance around. 

The Cantina is a dive, with pine-paneled walls covered in vintage license plates and old tin Coke signs. The floors are tacky and the tables are faded from so much bleach over the years, but the bathrooms are always clean, so it’s not  _ awful.  _ Ben is rambling on about Starkiller, the band we’re here to see, and I spot the foreign exchange student, Snap Wexley, sitting alone a few tables away. I think about inviting him to join us before deciding that I’m selfish and don’t want to share Ben’s attention, when I feel a hand on the back of my neck. 

I jerk out of the grip, twisting around to see Moden Canady behind me. One of those former football stars that never moved on. “Sup, Plutt?”

“Fuck off,” I say with a scowl. 

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He pulls up a chair and sits with us. “One of these days you’re going to realize what a stud you’re missing out on. And then it’ll be too late.”

“Why? Because I’ll be too old?” I roll my eyes. Ben is watching the interaction with a blank expression, but I can see the way his jaw clenches, muscle jumping. A nearly imperceptible clue that he’s about to lose his temper.

“Older a woman gets, more mouthy she gets. Am I right, Solo?” Canady lifts a fist for Ben to bump, but he doesn’t, instead narrowing his gaze.

“I think Rey told you to fuck off,” Ben says, tone cold.

“Oh, you let the girl wear the pants, Ben? Never figured you for a pussy.” Canady tips back his beer and chugs it down. 

“Canady, you’re disgusting. Lay a finger on my girl again and I’ll break your fucking hand.” He sounds so calm, it’s eerie. I watch, my heart thudding anxiously. I really don’t want them to brawl, but it  _ would  _ be for my honor. And Ben calls me  _ his girl _ , which shoots warmth straight between my legs. I know he doesn’t mean it like that, but still - my body isn’t logical as my clit throbs.

“Big words, Solo. If you were eighteen, I’d teach you a lesson,” Canady grumbles. His eyes slide towards me, dipping to where my stupid blouse gaps between my breasts, and curse Ben for dressing me and myself for letting him. 

“Weird that you’re only concerned about age when it comes to guys,” Ben says. Canady mumbles some more before pushing his seat back roughly and stomping away. A tense silence develops, but Ben leaves to get another drink and the band comes in from the back, carrying their instruments and laughing to each other.

They look like generic city hipsters in tight jeans and eyeliner. Ben, who dresses very much like the rich future frat boy that he is, will likely not appeal to their faux artsy tastes. Then again, Ben is charming, and most people adore him. 

I watch the band set up and then Ben drags me out of my seat so we can talk to them. Ben pulls my sweater around my shoulders, saying, “Let’s put these freckles to good use,” which makes me roll my eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, and the redhead with the scarf grins at him. I stand awkwardly beside Ben as they do one of those bro handshakes men are just inherently aware of from birth. “We’re big fans.”

“Thanks, man. Really appreciate your support.” I feel his gaze settle on me and the urge to pull my cardigan up and shut in the front is overwhelming. “We love to meet our fans.”

“Yeah, like, your EP was great. Definitely has that Arcade Fire meets Kings of Leon kind of feel,” Ben says.

“Yeah, it’s… great.” Ben elbows me in the ribs, and I scowl, as he should know by now that false enthusiasm is not something I can muster. “Really, um… sexy?”

I think Ben might murder me, as the look he shoots me is quite cutting. But Mr. Ginger just grins, chewing his gum slowly.

“You like to listen to my music when you fuck?” he asks, and I’m sure my face is beat red as I stammer for an answer. What the fuck? This is  _ weird.  _ I can tell that, even though they aren’t jumping in, the two other musicians are listening as they pretend to mess with their drum set and bass guitar. Yikes, this is creepy. 

“Yeah, Rey is the town slut, so - you know,” Ben says with what is meant to be a casual shrug, but really an excuse to nudge me away. Grateful to be released from this awkward encounter, I head to the bar to pretend to get a drink. Paige gives me another Coke, asking if Rose has sent me any updates on the UN event. I pull out my phone - all she’s said is that Russia and Italy are about to call war against the Allies in a strange twist of events. I sip my drink and watch Ben as he and the band guys talk. 

For the millionth time in my life, I wish I wasn’t such an awkward loser, that Ben wouldn’t shove me off when things weren’t going  _ exactly  _ his way. If Bazine were here, she would probably know what to say, how to flirt or whatever. Ben probably wishes he had picked a better kid to befriend in our sandbox days. I start my shame spiral, feeling the hot press of tears stinging my eyes. 

I’m so fucking  _ lame.  _

When the band begins their set, I find my way over to Ben. He seems to have forgotten the awkwardness, as he loops an arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear with his warm breath washing over my face, “Guess who just took some X from the band.”

Oh, great. He’s going to have an orgy with these dudes. I wonder if he would give me his keys so I could go home and change into sweatpants and pick him up later, but he seems really content to just half-hug me into his side as the band plays some slow, crooning pop-punk ballad. I enjoy it, relaxing against him. 

Ben always smells good, like clean laundry and soap and something kind of sweetly-spicy, like cinnamon. It’s intoxicating. I let him sway me a little, enjoying the moment while I can, when a number of things happen.

Canady and some douchebag in cowboy boots and head to toe camo start fighting. They knock into Paige, who is carrying a tray of draft beers. The tray flips through the air, beer flying and glass shattering on the ground. The band keeps playing, until something sparks and the amps go out. I feel Ben’s hand tighten on my shoulder. Smoke starts puffing you from one of the speakers, the electrical burnt smell making my nose scrunch in disgust. Then flames shoot up from the musical equipment, jumping up the cheap paneled walls to the fiberglass drop ceiling. Everyone is just  _ frozen  _ for the longest moment, barely breathing, until Paige screams and it seems like everyone jumps into motion.

“Ben!” I scream, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him. It’s chaos as people knock tables and chairs and each other out of the way to get out the door. The fire moves fast, smoke filling the room. I know that smoke inhalation can kill you just as easy as being burned alive, so I drop to the floor. My pulse thunders in my ears as I try to pull Ben down with me, but he’s paralyzed - maybe in shock. He’s so much bigger than me but I am  _ not  _ leaving without him. 

Jumping up, I shove him into motion. One of the exposed rafters creaks loudly before crashing down, and we just manage to dodge it. I drag Ben by the collar of his shirt and belt into the chilly night. Windows shatter and people scream, a crowd gathered in the parking lot. For a moment, Ben and I just stand there, panting, staring at the fiery husk of the bar. 

“That was - Ben, are you ok?” I ask.

He stands there dumbly. Like his brain is disconnected from his mouth. I’ve never seen him in such a state - Ben, who had a quick quip for every situation. I try to shake him as tears stream down my face. I dig in his pockets for his keys, thinking I should drive us to the ER or something. I grab them out as a junky utility van screeches to a stop in front of us. 

“Need a ride?” asks the ginger singer. There is a gleam in his eyes, something off-putting. He hops from the passenger seat and rolls open the panel door. A drum kit is jammed back there, along with a rug that is probably covered in STD’s and other bodily fluids. 

“No, we’re -“

“Ok,” Ben says. He steps forward, legs clearly unsteady. 

“Hey, no, Ben,” I say, grabbing the back of his shirt. “What are you doing?”

“We’ll take care of him,” says one of the musicians, a pale dude with a shaved head. Ben looks like an overgrown child, sitting criss-cross-applesauce in the back of their creeper van. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” says the redhead, patronizing. I gape in shock as they just - they just slam their doors and peel out, tires kicking up dirt on the asphalt before taking off into the night. I stand there, watching as the tail lights glow in the darkness and disappear. 


	3. Chapter 3

I drive Ben’s car home and head inside the darkened house. I run a shower. My hair and clothes reek of smoke and I never want to see that stupid shirt again. I scrub my skin raw and wash my hair three times, letting the tears I’ve held back fall. Not only did I narrowly escape a fucking  _ fire _ , but my best friend, clearly not in his right mind, willingly got into a stranger danger van with off-brand, generic Taking Back Sunday. 

It’s a traumatic event. Like, a freak accident tragedy. Something that happens in Lifetime movies and soap operas. I’m worried about Ben, about everyone that was at the Cantina. Fortunately, there are people stronger than me that will have called the fire department and paramedics. I’m allowed to be scared, I think, and worried about Ben. I want to talk about it, but the only person I want to talk to is probably getting anally penetrated by some scarf-wearing city jerks. 

I call Rose.

She answers on the second ring. “Miss me already, Rey?”

“Hey - um, something weird happened tonight.” I put her on speaker as I get dressed in pajamas and run a wide-tooth comb through my hair. 

“ _ Weird _ ? Like what?”

“The Cantina caught fire,” I say in a flat voice.

“Holy shit! Is Paige ok, did you see her?” Rose asks in a panicked voice.

“She got out, I saw her. But - there was a band playing, and they gave Ben some ecstasy and he started acting all weird and - they took him.” I don’t know how else to describe it. Yeah, Ben climbed in there - stumbling but without help. But it still feels ominous to me. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it in my guts. Nausea ripples through me and I swallow down the bile that burns up my esophagus. “I’m - I’m worried.”

“Shit,” Rose says softly. “Rey, that’s so messed up. Have you called him?” 

Oh my God, I am  _ dim.  _ “I hadn’t tried. Let me call you back.” I hang up without another word and pull up Ben’s contact info. I call, and it rings once before going to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message, because he never checks them. I sent a text instead.

**Rey**

_ Dude answer your phone  _

_ Let me know you’re ok _

_ Please Ben this is so fucked up _

Nothing. It doesn’t even say delivered. Bad signal? That just makes me think they dragged his big body deep into the woods and murdered him, which makes me feel even  _ more  _ scared. 

I text Rose that he didn’t answer, and that I’m going to call the local hospital. Maybe Starkiller took him to the ER when they realized he wasn’t quite right. I head down to the kitchen, searching online for the number, when the sound of the door shutting makes me pause. The time on my phone is only 10:30, meaning Plutt is at work. 

I hear a floorboard creak and plaster myself against the wall.  _ What the fuck?!  _ It’s not enough to survive a fire and my best friend being stolen by eye-liner wearing musicians, now someone is breaking and entering my house?! My chest feels tight as I draw in quick, shallow breaths, sliding against the wall silently in the dark. The only weapon I have on hand is my phone - I glance across the open archway that leads into the kitchen and spot a letter opener, moonlight coming through the window glinting off its metal body. I grab it in my fist and tip-toe into the kitchen. 

I would never be prepared for the sight of Ben Solo, motionless and dripping blood on my kitchen floor. I shriek and he doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“Ben?” I ask, my heart racing and my fingertips tingling as adrenaline zips through my body. 

He doesn’t reply, but pulls open the fridge door and stares for a long moment. There’s a few steaks in there, marinating in Italian dressing in a Tupperware container. I watch in wide-eyed confusion and terror as he fumbles with the lid, prying it open, smearing blood all over it. 

Then he just… takes a big ol’ bite of the raw meat, crouching down and making disgusting noises as he chews and swallows.

“Ben, that’s Plutt’s - he’s gonna be uh, pretty pissed…” I might as well be talking to a wall. He doesn’t respond as he consumes the pink steak with his bare hands like some kind of animal. When it’s gone, he stands again. His face is frozen, blank, and there’s black gunk surrounding his full lips and down his chin and throat. His clothes are stiff and tacky with drying blood. 

“Should I - do you want me to call your mom?” I ask apprehensively. 

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice hoarse and mouth barely moving. His teeth are dark and shiny, wet - I lean back, nodding.

“Yes, Ben. You’re freaking me the fuck out.”

He leans towards me, and I put my hands up to stop him - but he hugs me, putting all of his weight into it. I stagger under him as his sticky shirt soaks into mine, cold and wet against my chest. After an uncomfortably long moment, he steps back. 

Life seems to flare suddenly into his vacant eyes, and they snap to my face. I jerk in surprise. But just as suddenly, he contorts, and then he’s projectile vomiting this thick black gunk all over the floor. I scream and jump out of reach as he retches. Horrible noises that make  _ me  _ want to puke, too. Rearing back, he lets out a blood-chilling, inhuman sounding roar, and I clap my hands over my ears, crying out softly in fear. He half-gallops on all fours down the hall and out the front door, slamming it so hard that the windows rattle.

I catch my breath, staring at the mess he left, wondering what the fuck happened to my best friend.

  
  
  


——

  
  
  


The next morning, I’m a mess. After spending two hours scrubbing the mystery substance off the floor, I had to take  _ another  _ shower to get the gross stink and feel off me. I crawl into bed and cry for a while until sleep finally comes. It seems like my alarm starts beeping far too quickly. I brush my teeth and prepare for the day, feeling like a robot. The night before seems like a weird fever dream. I hope it was.

Ben’s car is gone from where I parked it in the driveway, replaced by Plutt’s old Jeep. He must’ve gotten it last night, after his creepy, gross little visit. I think maybe the band gave him some bunk acid instead of X - it could’ve been anything. Definitely would explain a lot, except for what that black shit he vomited was - it was like nothing I’ve ever seen or smelled before. Thick and putrid, sticky and stringy. Rotting-sweet, like death. Like the dead mice I’ve found in sticky traps in Plutt’s garage. 

The bus ride is uneventful. I arrive at school and drop my bag in my locker. I can tell everyone is talking about the fire - admittedly,  _ that  _ moment had slipped my mind in the wake of Ben’s late night visit. I ignore everyone and head to first period, Ancient Civilizations. Everyone goes quiet when I walk in - obviously word has gotten out that I was at the Cantina last night. 

I sit at my desk and ignore everyone else. I’m not used to being the center of attention - that’s usually reserved for Ben. The bell rings and he hasn’t shown up, which isn’t that uncommon. I can’t imagine he’ll come today, after everything last night. 

At the front of the room, Ackbar leans against his desk with a solemn expression. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of the tragic fire at the Cantina last night,” he starts, and I’m startled to hear the emotion thick in his voice. “It was an electrical accident, and the structure is completely destroyed. We lost one of our own in the chaos, Snap Wexley.” 

My heart squeezes painfully hard in my chest. I was so focused on Ben I hadn’t even thought about poor Snap. I want to scream and cry at the unfairness of it all -

The door swings open, and I feel cold all over as Ben saunters into the room. As usual, he drops a treat on my desk before plopping into his own. Just like… so casual, like he wasn’t retching up the most foul shit in existence last night. And he looks  _ great _ \- like, even better than normal. I twist in my seat to look at him - his hair gleams black and curly under the fluorescents overhead, and his pale skin is like  _ luminous.  _ And the muscles in his arms and shoulders seem somehow beefier. Bulgy. I can’t contain my disbelief at seeing him here, looking as if last night hadn’t happened.

“ _ Ben _ …”

“Miss Plutt, please,” Ackbar says, and I turn slowly, dazed, to face the front. 

This cannot be real. Like, I fully expected Ben to be in the  _ hospital  _ after last night. It doesn’t make any sense. My phone vibrates in my back pocket and discreetly, I pull it out. Not only is Ben texting me, but I have a few from Rose, reassuring me that Paige is safe and has some minor burns but otherwise unscathed. I open the message from Ben.

**Ben**

_ Why is everyone acting so upset?  _

**Rey**

_ Really, Ben? The Cantina burned down and Snap is dead. Everyone is super upset!! _

**Ben**

_ Oh right. That.  _

I scoff, shaking my head. This is a new level of dickdom, even for him. 

**Rey**

_ Are you feeling ok? After last night? _

**Ben**

_ I’m fine, Plutt.  _

_ Still thinking about your pretty little tits tho _

Of course. Typical Ben. Acting like he didn’t scare the shit out of me last night. I glower at my desk the rest of class, missing if Ackbar ever starts teaching or if they rehash the fire all period. In the hall, Ben trails after me. At my locker, he sighs and leans against the metal door of Jessika Pava’s locker as I open mine.

“So… what happened with those guys?” I ask, exchanging textbooks for my next class. 

“They were assholes.” Ben pulls out his phone, no longer paying attention. I roll my eyes, knowing better than to press for details. If he wants to be tight-lipped about it, for whatever reason, he’s not going to give up information. Bugging him will only irritate him, and no matter how  _ normal  _ he’s acting, I’m still freaked about last night and definitely not eager to provoke him. 

“So we’re you having a bad reaction to whatever they gave you last night? When you barfed all over my kitchen?” I ask, arching an accusing eyebrow.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Huh? I guess, I don’t know. Whatever.” He cards his fingers through his hair, and I get this flashback of those long, elegant fingers blood soaked and smearing red all over my kitchen. I shiver and gaze at him apprehensively. What I see is Ben Solo, my best friend, bored and arrogant and gorgeous. Normal, typical Ben. 

I  _ know  _ last night was real. My knees are sore and my fingernails feel brittle from the bleach I used to scrub the floor. I  _ refuse  _ to be gaslit - 

Bazine sidles over to us, books pressed against her chest to emphasize her cleavage, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Is it true, Solo? I heard you and  _ Plutt _ were at the Cantina last night. That must’ve been  _ so scary.”  _ She trails her pointy fingernails down his chest, and I roll my eyes. 

“Rey got me out just fine,” he says flatly. Ben pushes her hand away and turns to me, ignoring Bazine’s pout. “I will catch you later.” His grin is beautiful, as always, and in spite of everything I melt a little when he turns it full force on me.

He pushes off the locker and lopes down the hall to catch up with Dameron. Baz and I stare after him, for different reasons, but both of us are wearing equally worried expressions. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Ben has been acting completely normal in the weeks following the tragedy. A few people - Snap’s host family, a few girls he was close to - are wrecked, breaking down into tears some days. Paige is out of a job, but getting unemployment as the rubble is cleared and the owners rebuild. Starkiller is suddenly topping the Billboard charts, and every time I hear their  _ stupid  _ song - “Through the Trees,” written the night of the Cantina Fire Tragedy, what they call it on the news, becoming the hottest song in the nation. 

I have nightmares. Of the fire, being trapped inside with an immobile Ben, who refuses to move his feet and acknowledge me as the place is engulfed in blazing flames and thick, heavy smoke that chokes my lungs and burns my nose. I have nightmares about that same night, Ben crouched over the raw steak and tearing into it, those awful sounds he made and the black, stringy aftermath. 

But what can I do? He seems  _ fine.  _ He never talks about it - what happened with the band, if whatever drugs they gave him made him sick or something. I try not to worry, instead focusing on my school work. I catch rides with Rose most days, going to study at her house which is bright and cozy. Her mother runs the town bakery so there’s always tons of treats in her kitchen, unlike the cheap processed stuff that Plutt prefers. 

There is the bonus that I don’t imagine puddles of that gunk Ben spewed on Rose’s kitchen floor. Can't say the same for my own kitchen. 

Autumn grows colder and grayer. The leaves change and fall off the trees. The football season ends - despite Ben’s initial efforts, they really weren’t a good team. No championship, and Ben doesn’t seem to care. He stops talking about it at all - I only hear through the grapevine that he dropped out without telling me. He spends a lot of time doing other things, I’m not even sure what - but he always brings me my first hour pastry and drives me home. I think maybe the distance could be good for us, no matter how painful it is.

I mean, how long can I go on loving him when there is a less than zero chance anything will happen between us? How much hurt can I stand? After all, he’s had a million opportunities to make a move. If he hadn’t by now, he never will. The texting between us slows down, and it feels like a big chasm has cracked open between us, widening by the day. 

So much for sandbox love never dying.

Plus, I think maybe he’s gotten addicted to drugs. A few weeks after the fire and whatever the fuck happened with that band and at my house, he looks …  _ rough.  _ His skin turns sallow and waxy, dark circles under his dull hazel eyes. His hair loses luster and he’s grumpier than usual. I can’t figure it out, no matter how I look at it. And Ben  _ says  _ he’s fine, but I know better than to believe him. 

“I’m starving,” Ben says after Ackbar’s class one morning. Exactly a month to the day since the fire - they’re planning a big pep rally. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month. It feels like a lifetime, days dragging into sleepless nights where I’m plagued with questions about what  _ really  _ happened. 

“The lunch ladies will sneak you something,” I say, distracted. I have a quiz in French, and I’m struggling with verbs. 

“No, not like that.” He sighs, turns those muted hazel eyes on me. “Can Rose give you a ride? I think I’m going to leave.”

“Um, I bet she can. No worries. Go home and rest.” Maybe he’s got like, delayed survivor’s guilt or PTSD. If that’s the case, I’ll be relieved. It would make all of his odd behavior make sense. 

Ben surprises me with a tight hug. His nose burrows in the crook of my neck, and he inhales deeply. I flinch when his hips press into my front, feeling something hard dig into my tummy. “You smell so good, Rey. Maybe I should eat  _ you. _ ”

Before I can respond, he pulls away and strides away, leaving me blushing and flustered. I stare after him until he disappears around a corner. 

  
  
  


——

  
  
  


I think of little else all day. I’m sure I bomb my French quiz, and Rose seems smug as he sit together in the pep rally. For some reason, the cheerleaders do a somber dance to Starkiller’s song that makes me giggle, hiding my face in Rose’s shoulder when a few people turn to give me dirty looks. There’s a picture, blow up school photo of Snap on the stage, and we all take a moment of silence in his memory. The school counselor, Mrs. Holdo, makes a speech about grief coming in waves like the tide, and finishes it with an invitation to see her if any of us need to talk. 

Rose and I head to her house and set up in her bedroom. It’s sickeningly pink, a relic of her toddler years that has never been updated. Her four poster canopy bed is frilly but comfortable, and we lounge there eating popcorn and doing very little studying. We’re listening to some playlist on her phone when that  _ stupid  _ Starkiller song comes on. I groan dramatically.

“Come on, it’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Rose says, grinning widely at me. She sings along to the chorus until I lunge, half-covering her body with my own as I reach for her phone. She squeals, laughing as we wrestle. For some reason, Ben’s little comments about the way she looks at me pop into my head.

Rose is cute. I’ve never given it much thought beyond that. Round cheeks, dark glittery eyes and black hair with bangs across her forehead. She, like me, never wears makeup and generally chooses clothes for comfort and function over style. I wonder if she  _ does  _ think of me that way, and if that would be a bad thing. 

Her text notification goes off at the same time as my Snapchat does. At the same time, we stop play fighting and check our devices. 

Mine is a selfie of a crying Kaydel, mascara running down her cheeks. The text on the photo reads “RIP Phasma” with the angel emoji.

“Oh my god,” Rose whispers. “Gwen Phasma was found in the woods behind the school. She’s  _ dead _ .”

My whole body goes numb. I force myself to breathe but it’s difficult. It doesn’t seem real - it has to be a joke. A sick, terrible joke after everything that has happened in the last month. But then Paige bursts in, pale and stricken, asking if we had heard. The sisters hold each other and cry, and I feel like an interloper, witnessing a private moment. I make some excuses and gather my things. It’s not too bad of a walk home, and the cold October air on my face is refreshing. 

With my bag bouncing on my back, I check Twitter - Ben’s has been suspiciously silent for weeks - and find a wave of tweets about Phasma. Pictures of her - tall, platinum blonde, rarely smiling. She was always cool and aloof, except on the volleyball court. She was aggressive and brutal there. One time, in freshman PE, she spiked a ball so hard that it broke a girls’ nose. She got recruited to the varsity team quickly after that. 

There were rumors that she and Ben had hooked up last year. I can see it - he’s the only guy in school as tall as she is. And Ben has certainly never seemed to show a preference.

I let myself in the front door, kick off my shoes, and head upstairs. There’s warm ups from last night’s tacos, but my stomach feels the opposite of hungry as I climb the stairs. In my room, I dump my bag on my desk and flick on the light - and scream when I realize Ben is laying on my bed. 

“Plutt, seriously?” Ben yawns and lazily sits up. He’s wearing sweatpants that do little to disguise his dick, which I can plainly see the imprint of, and an old worn hoodie. “You scared of me now?” There’s a challenge in his voice, which strikes me as  _ odd.  _ Like he wants me to be. 

“I’d be scared if anyone was in my room without my knowledge,” I reply primly. I peel out of my cardigan and hang it on the back of my computer chair, frowning. “Shouldn’t you be getting drunk and mourning Phasma with the other jocks?” I’m sure they’re all getting wasted in her memory, somewhere.

“I miss you,” Ben says. He stands, lower lip sticking out in a fake pout. “I never see you anymore, Rey.” His hands come up to cradle my hips, and I don’t know what to say, or what to think. I can feel the heat from his palms burning through my jeans. My heart pounds  _ hard _ in my chest.

“Well, you’ve been acting weird.”  _ Like this _ , I want to add. I pull back and study in him under my bright overhead light. His skin looks  _ way  _ better, actually - the dark circles under his eyes are gone. His hair looks soft and shiny again. “Must have been a really good nap you had instead of school.”

“Oh, I’m feeling much better,” he purrs.

“That’s nice,” I say in a high voice that sounds foreign to my own ears. His long, aquiline nose brushes my cheek, and I hold impossibly still, barely even breathing, as he takes a step even closer so that our bodies as flush against each other. I can feel every inch of his hard chest against my breasts, which makes my nipples spike into hard peaks that twinge with need. 

“I thought we should spend some  _ quality  _ time together,” Ben continues, one hand sliding over my hip to press against my ass. I whimper, torn between mindless arousal telling me to hold still and let him continue, seeing where this thread might end… And paralyzing fear that something is wrong with him. He might make jokes, but he’s never done anything like  _ this.  _ Maybe the stress of everything, almost losing each other, has opened his eyes to how much we care about each other, maybe it made him realize we could be more than friends… 

Or maybe he’s simply trying to fuck the pain away. That seems more likely. And as much as my body is screaming for him to finally,  _ really  _ touch me, I know I don’t want it like this. Not some poorly developed coping mechanism he’ll soon regret, something that could drive an even bigger rift between us.

“Ben, did you hear about Phasma?” I ask softly, as his tongue traces over my fluttering pulse. 

He goes still as stone, then lets me go and steps back. He frowns down at me, looking almost  _ hurt.  _ “Is that some kind of fucked up accusation, Rey?” He spits the words like venom and I blink in surprise. 

_ Accusation?  _ “Should it be?” I ask, puzzled. Of course it wasn’t, but I watch enough Law and Order to know projection when I see it. I never thought he might be involved - until he said that. Ben makes this weird whine and turns away, hands pressed against the sides of his head like he’s trying to block out noise. I watch, stupefied, as he doubles over and whimpers. His face is screwed up, tortured, and I ache to see him hurting. I try to wrap my arms around him, which lasts all of two seconds before he shoves me away. 

“ _ Ben _ , please, just talk to me, tell me what’s wrong!” I beg, voice tight with unshed tears. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to settle down. I step closer, running my fingers through his hair the way he likes. He nuzzles into my hand, and from his knees, hugs my legs. 

“I’m sorry, Rey,” Ben murmurs. “I’m not quite feeling like myself, lately.”

“It’s ok,” I promise. “You’re my Ben, and no matter  _ what  _ you’re going through, I’m always here for you. I’ll always love you, no matter what.” His face turns up to study me, and my heart nearly breaks at the sorrow in his features. Tears track down his high cheekbones, and his hazel eyes are bright.

“Even if I’m a monster?” he asks softly.

“Yes. You’ll just be  _ my  _ monster.” I smile, and he wipes his face on my jeans. It’s the truth, after all. We’ve been through so much - and he’s hurt me, but I can’t help myself. I forgive him, I move on, if it means we are still best friends, each other’s  _ person.  _ It’s likely super unhealthy but I’m not going to analyze it now. 

“I’m glad I have you,” Ben says. I pull him to his feet, hug him around the middle, and sigh into his chest. “I’m glad I saw you all by yourself in that sandbox and decided to play with you. Best decision I ever made.”

“Me too,” I say. We can get through this, I think. As long as we’re together. 


End file.
